


Dragon Campaign

by lunardragonfly



Category: The Legend of Dragoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunardragonfly/pseuds/lunardragonfly
Summary: This is a snippet of a story I am writing. The story will encompass the entire Dragon Campaign; leading up to, during and a bit afterwards. It starts off with Diaz when he was a child growing up in a Wingly dominated land. I have used the Roman basis of slavery before Melbu Frahma takes control. Tell me what you think!





	Dragon Campaign

Diaz remember little about the day he was taken away from his mother and made to train in the gladiator pits, but what he did remember was this. The sky was blue and clear and the wind was warm against his skin. The smell of sandalwood and sweat as his mother pull him into a tight embrace. The sound of boots on the ground and the rough hands of the Wingly who ripped him out of that safe embrace, the last sense of safety he ever knew. 

It was only later on that Diaz found out why he had been singled out in the entire household of slaves. His father had been one of the best human gladiators and his master and Diaz’s mother’s master decided to make an investment together; Diaz. Now Diaz’s new master had come to collect his investment and have him trained as a gladiator. He was taken to the physician where he was deemed fit, and then to the owner of the gladiator school he was to train at, from there he was shown who his teachers would be. These were men who had been gladiators in the past and they varied from Human to Gigantos. He was introduced to the strict pre-determined regime all gladiators must adhere to from sun up to sun down. The food he ate, the way he trained, the times he would bathe and to the time he was able to go to sleep. It was a regime that became somewhat comforting, the structure helped to keep the young boy balanced. He was trained in light weight combat for now but he was told that might change if he became bulky as his father was, then he might be better suited for heavy armour.

Diaz was nine when he learned that his father was the top fighter in the fighting pits in Kadessa, the Wingly capital. His master even brought him to watch his father fight in a few matches. He watched his father fight, his movements were quick and decisive; there was no taunting or playing. He was a tall man and muscular, his body was covered in white lines; scars from previous battles. When the gladiator killed his new opponent the crowd of Wingly’s went wild for their Champion. They screamed his name and the gamblers collected their winnings. Diaz watched this theater of violence and bloodshed before him and swore that he would become a great gladiator like his father, if only to get the chance to talk with this man. Diaz was not naïve about his status as a slave, his mother made sure of that, but he was still young enough that he could have dreams and there was one he still clung to; he, his mother and his father would one day be free and live together in a human city state that he had heard about. He would become a great gladiator and learn to fight, this was his way out. 

Day in and day out Diaz trained towards this ideal of becoming the next best gladiator. It was not long after that Diaz was moved to a different style of training which was better adapted to his growing bulk. He was not the light fighter he had been but one of his teachers, a Gigantos, said that Diaz’s heavier hits would mean fewer strikes if he was able to hit the right spots. Through his training though, Diaz was still able to be quick, quicker than any opponent would expect for a man of his build. He had overheard his master commenting to the school owner that Diaz would be even better than his progenitor had been if he was able to maintain this speed despite his bulk. Diaz would fantasize at night about being a Kadessa gladiator, and together he and his father would free themselves, collect Diaz’s mother and they would escape to a free city-state. He would fall asleep to the memory of sandalwood and sweat and the roar of his father’s name being chanted. 

Diaz was thirteen when he learned that his father had been defeated; he had overheard three Wingly guards talking about it. One was lamenting because of the money he had lost on his bet, while the other two laughed at his misfortune. Diaz sat on his pallet in his locked cell as he listened to the Wingly’s passing comments on how Diaz’s father was past his prime, Humans were only really good until they were around thirty to thirty-two years old, maybe thirty-six if you got some rare stock. The Wingly’s kept laughing at their friend’s loss of money while Diaz dealt with the knowledge that his father had lost his life. He had never known the man and the man might not have even known Diaz was alive, but that did not stop Diaz from building up those fantasies. Fantasies of meeting his father, fantasies of fighting alongside him in group fights, and Diaz’s favourite; his father and him saving his mother and escaping to a city-state to live free with each other. Now Diaz only had his mother, he still wanted to believe she was alive and that one day they would escape to be free.


End file.
